


Song of the Sea

by Inkblot9



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Curiosity, Magic, Minor Character Death, Other, Possibly Pre-Slash, Sirens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3406403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkblot9/pseuds/Inkblot9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lone siren lures the merchant-ship <i>Karaboudjan</i> to its doom, inadvertently smashing a drug ring in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Siren

He had heard the menfolk refer to this expanse of waves as the  _Atlantic_. It shouldn't have mattered to him, here so deep beneath the surface, invisible to any of their kind; but when a lack of excitement dragged on for so many years, his thoughts tended to stray. He needed something to feed off of, something to restore his energy. The waters he thrived in had been quiet for a while, and now it was time to stir things up a bit.

Unlike others he could name—the cantankerous sea-witch Castafiore, for example—he did not exercise his power at every possible opportunity. Rather, he waited. He waited for the tides to slow to a near-halt before he made his move. He waited for a peace that was simply _begging_ to be broken. He waited for a hearty ship with hearty men, the kind that never suspected a thing, the kind that thought they were invincible only to be proven deadly wrong.

He turned over onto his back and flicked his tail. He was growing impatient, now. He had sensed the approach of  _something_  from miles off. Whatever that  _something_ was, it was taking its sweet time.

A head of ginger hair peeked above the rippling water, and a hand soon followed to style the orange strands back into a neat quiff. Silvery eyes scanned the surrounding area for any disturbances, but found nothing. Nothing except for the usual back-and-forth of the water, reflecting the shine of the summer sun.

" _Hmph._ "

With another flip of his scaly tail, he surfaced completely, landing gracefully on the rocky shore of the shoal he had called home for the last century or so. He meandered around plenty, sure, but somehow he always returned to this little cove. Sometimes he wondered if there was something beckoning him there, something calling for him, something he needed to follow…

"Nonsense," he muttered aloud. "Beckoning is _my_ job." He allowed himself a short laugh, a smirk gracing the space in between freckles and rosy round cheeks. "And I'm quite good at it, if I do say so myself…"

A sound in the distance startled him from his contemplation. It was a sound he would know anywhere, and a sound he had long been anticipating. The low, heavy honk of a steam-ship's horn, the signal that the  _something_ he'd been waiting for had arrived.

The sailors these days all seemed to think that sirens had died out with the Ancient Greeks.  _Not so, my friends, not so,_ the littlest one thought, now just about ready to prove them wrong.

It was time to work his magic.

Also unlike Castafiore, his song was far from the shrill, all-engulfing sound that captured the ears of only the easiest men. Rather, his call was softer, lighter, gentler: and that only made him all the more enticing. He would give but a little taste of his voice to the sailor-men as they approached, rather than destroying their ears all at once. That made them curious, made them want more of him. So they would follow, intrigued, and bit by bit the sound would grow more and more powerful until the mesmerized fools met their fate against the rocks.

He wasn't above believing his _body_ was attractive as well. Creatures like him were so rarely seen by the people on land. When human eyes met the ones wrapped in such an air of mystery and charm, it became very, very difficult to resist their temptations.

Even with his eyes closed in concentration, he could see he was winning. The ship, quite large by the sound of it, was changing course, already ensnared in the trap his voice had laid. Though the chant was wordless, it was filled with plenty of suggestion: to come, to follow, to stay, to obey…

Deeper and deeper, louder and louder, stronger and stronger his spell became. The ship went from completely unseen to mere meters from his face. It began so slowly, and then in one single instant…

…it was over. Those who stayed on the ship were smashed, and those who reached out for a glimpse—or maybe even a touch—of the being before them were drowned.

The small siren looked over his handiwork. The bodies, the bottles of alcohol, and the tins of what looked like some sort of meat were useless to him, but still he was impressed with himself. What he soaked up with pride was the pure energy of the beautiful disaster he had caused…

Suddenly, there was a brush of skin against his tail fin. He peered down into the water and found one of the sailors: a stocky, tall man, with a thick black beard. A thin trickle of bubbles was flowing from his mouth.

He was still alive. Barely, but it was so.

Cocking an eyebrow, he impulsively reached for the sailor-man and brought him to rest on the rock beside him. The siren brushed the sailor's neck with one dainty hand, and found a pulse. He was unconscious, and likely still hypnotized…but he was  _alive_. How was that possible?

In that moment he realized he had never seen one of his victims up close. And so with a curious fascination, he began to inspect the man he had captured.

Even the features he shared with the human were drastically different between the two of them. The hair on the sailor's head was longer and thicker. Underneath his sopping shirt, he had hair even where the mer-creature had nothing but soft, sleek skin. He appeared rather muscly, quite strong.

Well, anyone who had somehow avoided death as cast by a siren had to be plenty hardy.

That was enough to leave said siren, who was normally quite sure of himself, in a state of uncharacteristic doubt. This stranger was worth something, he knew, and with the powers he possessed, he was sure to find out exactly what.

With a snap of his fingers, he lifted his spell.


	2. The Sailor

Unaware that he had even fallen asleep, he awoke with a start, gaping for breath he didn't know he needed. "Huh? What? Whas'sat…" he groaned, and when his eyes opened completely he gasped in shock. " _Blistering barnacles_! What in the world?!"

The last thing he remembered was taking a swig of whiskey back on his proud merchant ship,  _Karaboudjan_. Granted, his memory tended to be less than ideal these days, but still he figured he'd remember something like _this_ happening!

He glanced around frantically. Where was his ship? Where was his crew? Where was his  _whiskey_ , by thunder!? All he could see was water and rocks and debris. His head was swimming, and apparently the rest of him had been too—he was soaking wet from head to toe.

"Th-th—ten thousand thundering typhoons! Where in blazes am I?"

" _Shhhhh_ ," came an unfamiliar, yet soothing, voice from behind him.

When he turned his head around again, he found what looked at first to be another man. But upon closer inspection, he saw that was not the case after all. The being had the head and torso of a young human male…but below his waist was a long, fishlike tail, patterned with shimmering scales in brilliant blues, greys, and golds that continued along his spine. He had dazzling silver eyes and a coy little smile on his round face. He looked as if he had stepped—or _swam_ , rather—right out of a children's storybook.

"Wh—wh-who are you?" the sailor stammered, in simultaneous fear and awe. All the legends he had heard for as long as he could remember, that he had dismissed time and again, had manifested themselves before him. How was one supposed to react to something like that?

There was a brief silence, and then the mer-creature replied to his inquiry in that same honey-smooth voice. "Tintin, I'm called." 

 _Tintin,_  the man repeated to himself.  _Tintin._ The name suited him, somehow. It was almost musical, like the chime of a small bell.

"And you?" The being—Tintin—leaned in toward the sailor. He lifted the man's chin and peered into his eyes. "Who might you be?"

The man had no real reason to divulge anything about himself to this _Tintin_  creature, and yet he felt compelled to obey his every word. "Ah, I'm called…er, H-Haddock," he stuttered. "Archie— _Archibald_ Haddock. That's me."

"Haddock? Like the fish, haddock?"

Was that _amusement_ in Tintin's eyes? Was he  _mocking_ him? How dare he!

And yet…and yet…those eyes…that voice…

"Are you a mermaid?" Haddock blurted out after a moment.

To that, Tintin's response was true laughter. He threw his ginger-tufted head back as high-pitched, melodious _laughter_  echoed around the small cove surrounding them.

"A mer—" The word was broken up by more chuckles. "A  _mermaid_? Heavens no." Tintin sat himself up taller. "For one thing, I'm not a female. And furthermore, I'm not simply a playful, carefree little nymph; I have much greater powers to my name. I am what you land-folk would call a siren."

"You're a  _siren_ ," Haddock breathed, and suddenly, everything began to make some sort of sense, right down to that enchanting voice.

"So," he said tentatively, "you did this to me."

Tintin—the  _siren_ —tilted his head slightly, indicating he wanted Haddock to go on.

"My ship…my crew…it's all…"

"Gone," Tintin affirmed. "All lost, all fallen under my spell. Yourself included, until I saw you were alive…and, well, I became curious…"

Now, Archibald found he was hardly listening to those silky words. His mind was reeling. "How…how did I not notice? I'm the _Karaboudjan_ 's captain, by thunder! I should have—"

" _You_ were the captain of that ship?" That statement brought a note of surprise into Tintin's voice. "Then why weren't you at the head?…You should have been the first one I saw, the first one to succumb to my spell!"

"Nah, I've been alone in my cabin for days. Allan—my first mate, he's called Allan—he's taken over things recently, and, well, you see…"

Haddock— _Captain_ Haddock—trailed off, and his eyes widened as he realized just what that might mean.

"T-Tintin?"

"Hmm…yes?"

"I think you might have saved my life."

"Well, I do believe I did indeed save your life. You would have drowned if I left you in the water, that's simple fact."

"No." The man shook his head. "Not just that. It's my crew. They…they took over my ship and left me to wither away in my cabin with my bloody whiskey. The scoundrels, they tricked me! I can't even begin to imagine what they must have been plotting! The rats! Malingerers! Iconoclasts!" He shook, the revelation almost too much for him to bear.

"Tintin?" he mumbled again.

"Yes… _Captain_?"

The use of the title, combined with a cheeky grin, sent chills throughout Haddock's body. Tintin was incredibly alluring, and seemed to know his every weak spot. It was all he could do to keep speaking.

"I know sirens are supposed to be monsters," he said, "and as far as I know, you're about to _eat_ me or something…but right now it's because of you that I'm safe. Tintin…by destroying everything I held dear, you saved my wretched old soul."

There was a drop in Tintin's serene composure; he looked a bit taken aback at that. Haddock could imagine that the concept of a siren  _saving_ a sailor was just as alien to him.

"I have to thank you," Archibald went on. "At least for now. Do whatever you wish with me later, I— _eh?_ "

Haddock broke off as a soft hand gripped his, and a shining tail began to encircle his body. Within seconds, he was wrapped in what could only be referred to as some sort of embrace.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Tintin?"

The siren leaned in again until their noses were nearly touching.

"You're welcome," Tintin whispered, with a smile that, somehow, seemed sincere this time.


End file.
